Page 13 of Dream On

He’s Lex again. Stony and dismissive.

“Stevie St. James,” the director calls out, prompting my shoulders to stiffen, my insides to pinwheel. “You’re next.”

Heads turn to look at me. Whispery chitchat spills into my psyche, blending with my pounding pulse. I pull to a stand, harnessing a nervous smile as I make my way to the stage. The lights are blazing, gleaming like a spotlight and making me sweat. Mr. Hamlin offers me a quick nod and folds his arms, a gesture to begin.

I glance out at the crowd. Twenty or so people watch from their seats, waiting. Some are hoping I’ll crack under the pressure. I look over at Lex bent forward in his chair, elbows to his knees, chin propped in tightly folded hands. He’s watching me too. Apparently I’m more fascinating than his phone.

The opening chords crest, bubbling up in my chest like a symphony. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, blotting everything else out.

Then I sing.

Diamonds: a girl’s best friend. My eyes are alight with them, my movements filled with fluidity and grace. Each note sparkles with dazzling jewels as I wave my arms, tap my feet, and glide across the stage in time with the music’screscendo. Performing is like a beautiful possession. You’re witness to the events unfolding, but another part of you is behind the wheel, fueling your footing, steeling your voice, creating art. When it’s over, every piece of you fuses back together, and you feel changed. Whole.

That’s how I feel when the last note plays and the silence settles in, a slew of dazed eyes staring back at me, waiting for my next move.

I begin to smile when I hear slow clapping coming from the audience. My chest heaves with weighty breaths as I tip my chin and glance out at the crowd.

Lex.

His expression is stoic, unreadable, his hands slapping together with lazy, measured claps.

Is he mocking me?

I can’t tell.

My cheeks burn as I fiddle with my hair through a curtsy, smile my thanks to Mr. Hamlin, and book it off the stage.

“Impressive, Stevie,” our director says. “Thank you.”

I plop back down in my seat, my heart still racing.

That was good. Ithinkthat was good. I hit all my marks, all my notes, and I truly felt the song, deep in my soul.

I just don’t know if it was enough.

My hands quiver as I glance to my left, eyes meeting with jaded blue. Still no expression. No tilt to his lips, no crease of his brow. He’s a blank canvas as he studies me, his gaze skimming my face like he’s searching for something.

He pulls away sharply, and I release a long breath. If the stars align and I score this role, my biggest dream is about to come true.

But dreams aren’t always rainbows and sunny skies.

Sometimes they clash with your worst nightmare.

***

Everything is a blur.

My pulse is in my ears and in my throat, pumping a steady, shallow drumbeatfrom temples to toes. I weave through the masses, apologizing to the numerous people I bump into along the way. Swinging arms, hard chests, book bags, purses. The posting draws closer. A bulletin of warped ink. I can hardly retain a full breath as anticipation carries me forward to the far wall.

The only thing that breaks through the fog and snags my attention is the person leaning against it. He’s propped up beside the list with two well-muscled arms crossed over an unwrinkled button-down—stark white, contrasting with his tanned skin.

His eyes are aimed at me, awaiting my reaction.

My pace slackens as I approach. All my instincts tell me to ignore him, possibly say something scathing, but I can only croak out, “Did I get it?”

Lex’s lips curve up with a smirk.

That’s not a good sign.